The Dance of Death
by 1TruEmperor
Summary: When all of Zennith falls to Hel's forces, Veronica must ally herself with the last person she would expect. Can the two enemies put aside their differences and protect what little life remains against a force that threatens to conquer all the realms? IN PROGRESS. Slow updates because I suck at deadlines :)


Chapter 1

_Death smiles at us all. All a man can do is smile back._

_-Marcus Aurelius_

Zennith was no more.

But to be honest, Veronica should have realized the battle for Zennith was lost long before it began.

There were those who would call the young empress of Embla a pessifog. And to those who did not know her, Veronica could definitely come off that way. However, she preferred the term 'realist,' someone who saw the truth in every situation and was not going to sugar coat it.

And realistically, fighting a war against the undead was something no one could win.

As Veronica lay curled up, manacles digging into her wrist with every bump the rickety wagon went over, the young girl realized how foolish she had been to believe that Embla could stand alone against the forces of Hel.

Or perhaps how foolish she had been in general.

Askr, her country's ancient enemy, had fallen within weeks to the armies of the undead. The Askrians had held off and tried to contain the threat for a time. Veronica had heard reports that they had even tried to even seal the undead back once again. But they continued to spew forth from the portal to the underworld and eventually wiped out the entire nation.

Not even the Askrians beloved Order of Heroes was able to meet the threat.

Veronica had heard reports from her spies that perhaps there was more to the story, that the Order had been infiltrated by someone loyal to Hel, the queen of the undead. But she hadn't had time to confirm these reports before the undead army turned their dead eyes towards Embla.

Veronica tried meeting with their queen to discuss some form of a treaty. After all, the Askrians had been both of their enemies. Surely, Embla could find a way to coexist with the undead, or at least have some form of deal that left Embla alone.

Hel was not interested in Veronica's attempts to come to terms. Her cold eyes simply stared the girl down, and once Veronica fell silent, she informed the Emblan empresses that there not going to be any terms of surrender. The Emblans could fight, but it would not make a difference in the end. Hel was, well, hellbent on conquering all of Zennith.

Veronica shivered, pulling her legs closer to her chest in an effort to stay warm. The undead had a chill about them, something that now blanketed the lands. An ever-present fog had settled in, one that hid the walking corpses of her people.

The glow of their eyes were all that cut through the fog, small red spotlights that still seemed to contain some form of intelligence. The undead were all different: some, the most recently turned, looked fully human besides their glowing eyes. Others, presumably the older ones, had skeletal limbs, held together by magic. They seemed almost normal, capable of wielding weapons, but the undead possessed a relentless desire to kill, to add to their numbers. They never tired, never faltered. Veronica had learned that when they invaded her country.

Embla had lasted little longer than the Askrians. Unlike their rivals, Embla did whatever it took to protect itself. Veronica did not worry about the morality of her decisions. Burning the bodies of their dead? A necessary measure to ensure they were not reanimated to turn on the living. This extended to their wounded: whoever could not be saved could not be allowed to fall into the enemy's hands. Setting prisoners free as bait to cover the retreat of Emblan soldiers? It was worth it to Veronica. The life of any one of her people was worth the sacrifice.

Despite her best efforts, her great empire fell. Veronica, last empress of Embla, was the last living soul of her nation.

She did not know why she had been spared, but suspected Hel wanted to personally kill and reanimate her body. Veronica did not know how the process worked and there was a small part of her that was curious. Would she still be the same person afterwards? Or would her body simply continue to exist, following Hel's orders, while she moved on to whatever happened after death?

Veronica looked down at her grime covered hand, her fingers blue from the cold and shaking. Her royal robes, created by some of the finest tailors in Embla, were in tatters, the black and red fabric ripping from the rough treatment of the undead soldiers. They had thrown her into the wagon days ago, ripping her away from the arms of her brother, Bruno.

What little sleep she was able to get was plagued by the ungodly screams her brother made as she was dragged away. Was he still alive? Or had he been made into another one of Hel's minions, another body in her army? Veronica did not want to think about the fate of her brother and fought off the thoughts during the daytime, but at night, they kept her awake, curled up, hating how weak she was that she was crying.

Vengeance. That was what she had been taught. Her father had drilled it into her and Bruno from a young age. Vengeance on the Askrians for their ancestor's, vengeance on the kingdom of Muspell for their king's betrayal of their pact, and now vengeance on Hel for killing her people. Although her regal clothes were in tatters, her crown lost in the fires set on her family's castle, Veronica would pull through this for the sake of vengeance.

The wagon went over another bump, the chains on her manacles digging into her wrist from the jolt. After days and nights of being locked away in the wagon, her wrists had become bloodied as scabs tried to form over her cuts, only to be cut again by the tight, cold metal scrapping them.

Veronica bit down on her lip, holding in a cry. A simple healing spell would fix all of her cuts and bruises, sooth her aching limbs. But none of her undead captors seemed worried about her wellbeing. Even the food they threw to her at odd hours of the day wasn't enough: just a small waterskin and old bread. The dead didn't need to eat so they simply gave her what little they could scrounge up from the local towns they passed through.

Through a peep hole in the wagon's walls, from where rot had eaten away at the wood, Veronica spent her days watching the passing countryside. With the grey fog settling in as a blanket on the world, Veronica couldn't see twenty feet beyond the wagons. Passing dark shadows and the shuffling forces of the dead were the only signs that they were passing through any towns or populated areas.

If Veronica had to guess, they were currently traveling along some long stretch of countryside in Askr. Many of the dead who passed looked to be former Askrians based on their clothes and complexions.

Before the fall of Embla, Veronica had learned that Hel was using the Askrian capital as her base of operations. Based on the wagon's route, that still seemed to be the case. Veronica guessed they would arrive in the capital sometime tomorrow but could not be sure.

Veronica peered through the peep hole, wondering if there was somehow a way for her to break through the rotting wood. Despite the wagon being in shambles, the metal bolts holding her chain to the floor refused to even budge. If she had one of her tomes or perhaps something sharp to cut the wood around the bolts, perhaps she would be able to get free. But what then? If somehow she broke free and escaped the wagon with all its guards, she was deep in Askrian territory, surrounded by the forces of the dead. Embla was gone. Perhaps there were still people somewhere hiding out, but Veronica doubted there were many of them. For all she knew, she might be the last person alive in Zennith.

Veronica sighed, moving away from the hole. Perhaps she could escape to another realm and close the portal after her. After all, she had that power thanks to her lineage. But that would only prolong the inevitable. Hel wanted to take over all the realms, and she would eventually find Veronica.

Veronica was so wrapped up in her thoughts, she missed the first _thunk_. But when the wagon stopped and the shouting began, she scrambled back to the peep hole, trying to see what the commotion was about.

Undead soldiers ran this way and that, barking orders and pointing out into the fog, scrambling into a defensive ring around the wagon. They were armed with a wide variety of weapons, but the majority of them had rusty swords and spears. They few who had bows did not know where to fire and simply aimed into the fog, waiting for something to appear.

_Thunk!_

An arrow shot through the fog, narrowly missing a soldier's head and embedding itself into the wagon. Veronica jumped back as more flew through the fog, one hitting the wagon wall just inches away from where her face had been moments ago.

The arrows keep coming, pelting the wagon like hail on a roof. Soldiers screamed out as many found their mark, the sounds of bodies dropping to the ground barely discernable over the chaos.

Veronica pulled her legs up into the fetal position, trying to minimize her profile. Already, a couple of the arrowheads had broken through the wood, sending splinters flying as their tips poked through. Veronica doubted the wagon walls could withstand such a bombardment for long.

Who was shooting the arrows? Veronica knew for a fact that Embla was the last to fall. There had been no rumors of anyone else still alive when her castle had come under siege. Was this some sort of resistance group? A small band of living people fighting back?

Most importantly, did they know Veronica was in the wagon? Were they trying to rescue her?

The arrows gradually petered off, silence taking over. Veronica waited a few moments before scrambling to the peephole. Were her hands shaking because of adrenalin, excitement about possibly being rescued, or simply from malnourishment? Veronica couldn't be sure but suspected all three.

Shadows were emerging from the fog, figures with drawn swords and bows at the ready. Veronica couldn't make out who they wore: all were wrapped up in gray cloaks, their camouflage making them hard to track in the fog.

The cloaked figures checked the dead, kicking at the bodies and stabbing anything that moved. A couple took up watch, their weapons at the ready as they looked into the fog.

One figure passed within feet of Veronica's peep hole, their gray cloak momentarily blocking out her view.

The wagon door rattled, someone trying to undo the bolts on the outside. Veronica drew back, reminding herself that although these people had killed her captors, that did not mean they were here to save her.

"Damn," a voice said from the other side of the door. "Anyone know where the key is?"

Veronica ignored the responses from the other people, focusing on the voice of the person who had spoken. She knew that voice.

Surely, it couldn't be…

The door erupted into a shower of wood shavings, an axe head breaking it apart. Veronica shrieked, covering her head as the axe ripped apart the frame. A couple of the splinters found skin, adding to the cuts on the empresses' arms.

A small crowd of people stood at the foot of the wagon, weapons at the ready. Seeing that it was only Veronica in the wagon did not cause them to relax. On the contrary, they gripped their weapons more tightly, murmuring words the Veronica couldn't make out. Staring out at the bows leveled at her, Veronica didn't have to guess that these people were no allies of hers. Askrians most likely.

A figure broke from the crowd of gray cloaks, jumping into the wagon with ease. There was a bounce in their step as they walked towards her. They pulled down their cloak and Veronica felt her heart stop, her blood seemingly stopping as it froze. Despite the long, unkempt black hair pulled back in a very poorly done braid, the new scars and the beginnings of a scruffy beard forming, Veronica recognized them. He looked like he had aged ten years since she had last seen him but there was no forgetting that mischievous smile. Veronica had seen it many times on the battlefield and had grown to hate it. Whenever he smiled like that, she knew he had some plan, some trump card he was about to play.

Of all the people to rescue her, he was the last person Veronica would expect or want.

"You," Veronica spat, her voice raspy from lack of use.

"Hello Veronica," Kiran said. His smile didn't extend to his eyes, which held a cold, calculating look. The Order of Heroes' tactician extended his hand to help her up. "Crazy meeting you here."


End file.
